Spark, a Skyrim Story
by TheDancingBerry
Summary: When a man nearly dead from frostbite stumbles into the College of Winterhold, several things will ensue: explosions, romance, dragon attacks, and even more explosions! Featuring: a clueless Dovahkiin, apple pie, and Ancano getting ticked that no-one respects the Thalmor.
1. Chapter 1

**WINTERHOLD**

 **FARALDA**

Faralda sighed, watching the traveler slough through the thick Winterhold snow, breaking a trail toward the College entrance. The entire population of the town was indoors except for her, all because this asshole had to try and join. Wonderful.

The traveler broke through the three-foot deep sheet of snow to stand in front of Faralda, his robes sopping, his teeth chattering as he tried to speak. "I-I'm h-h-huh-here t-to join-n the C-C-Col-College..."

Faralda sighed again-why else would he be there? Perhaps he thought the College sold pies? Or he was very, very lost on his way to Jorrvaskr. "Of course you're here to join the College. But you can't do magic if you die from frostbite. Come on inside and warm up."

"T-th-ank-"

With another heaving sigh, Faralda grabbed the mans robe-sleeve and dragged him through the archway. "Thank me when you're warm. For now, shut up."

"Y-y-yes m-ma'am…"

Faralda pulled the man across the walkway to the College, stoically ignoring both the slick ice and the howling winds. Walking this way every day, it was easy for her to forget that the path was, to put it gently, ludicrously dangerous. The man nearly slipped on a thick patch of ice and Faralda yanked him closer, half-carrying him. His boots scrabbled against the ice, which re-froze almost as quickly as she could melt it away. By the time they reached the gates Faralda had the man tucked under her arm like an infant or a ham, thanking Auriel that he was tiny. The walls of the courtyard shielded them from the worst of the elements, allowing Faralda to witness a familiar scene: Mirabelle and Ancano arguing. Resisting the urge to sigh again, she pulled the soaked man up to Mirabelle, grabbing his limp free arm and using it to slap the Master Wizards shoulder. "Mirabelle!"

Mirabelle turned around, with a sigh Faralda would be proud of. "Faralda, I'm busy. Can it wait?"

"Sure," Faralda replied, "if you're okay with it dying." To emphasize her point, she shook the freezing man gently: he mumbled something about guards. _Great_ , Faralda thought, _we've somehow acquired another criminal_. "Can we _please_ deal with this new asshole first before we go back to dealing with the old one? He's almost dead."

Mirabelle rolled her eyes and turned away from Ancano, who sputtered indignantly. "Another one? How long will it take for these idiots to learn that Winterhold can be cold?" The Master Wizard grabbed the mans other arm and threw it over her shoulder. "Thank Talos he's little."

" _Ex_ cuse me?" Ancano said, drawing himself up to his full height. "Mirabelle, I'd advise you to watch your tongue or-"

"Or what?" Mirabelle interrupted, her voice more resigned than angry. This was a familiar problem at the College: almost everyone had invoked Talos in earshot of Ancano, even the Arch-Mage and Urag. And Urag was known as a devout worshipper of Malacath-he just liked bothering the Thalmor. Before Ancano could answer, Mirabelle continued, "You'll get your buddies together, march them through a Stormcloak city, up our walkway, and then somehow arrest a building-full of powerful and trained mages? No? Didn't think so. So go find a nice corner to hide your shame in and fuck yourself."

Ancano's mouth dropped open, and Mirabelle and Faralda hauled the man into the Hall of Attainment, flopping him down on an empty bed. Mirabelle leaned out into the central hall, shouting that if someone didn't get Colette _right now_ then they would be assigned to Midden duty.

"What's Midden duty?" Faralda asked casually, pulling the man's sodden hood off while Mirabelle removed his robes. "I made it up," Mirabelle replied, "but if I lock one of them down there the draugr problem might be solved. Or our food budget could get a cutback. Either way, I win."

The door to the Hall was flung open, and the apprentice whose name Faralda always forgot (Brenda? Blendin?) dragged the College's Restoration Master in. Colette pushed her hair back, and cast a quick Flames spell over her robes to dry them. "Where's the victim?"

Faralda and Mirabelle shot each other concerned looks. "Colette, dear, do you mean patient?" Faralda asked. "Nope!" Colette said brightly. "He's a victim of this damn weather. Now move!" As Faralda and Mirabelle moved away from the bed (Faralda slipped on the hood), Colette stepped forward, cracked her knuckles dramatically, and raised each hand. In one, the Flame spell burned bright, while a soft golden luminescence filled the other. Colette breathed deeply, pointed her hands at the man, and…set him on fire. As soon as the Flame spell touched his skin, Colette released her other spell, bathing him in a golden glow. The mans back arched in pain before relaxing, as the healing spell worked the burns away, while the fire started his blood flowing again. Colette kept the spells up for a moment before ceasing, pressing her head to his chest. "Uhm, Colette?" Brenana said, a bit sheepishly. "His…his heart didn't stop, did it?"

"Oh, probably not. But it's always good to check." Colette replied absentmindedly, checking his toes and fingers for signs of frostbite. "You do, after all, need a heart to live. So make sure it's working!"

Blender nodded, pulling out a hidebound notebook and a quill to jot that down, as Colette stepped away from her patient. She nodded once, dusted absolutely nothing from her hands, and pulled a bottle of mead from her pocket. "That oughtta do it!", she said cheerfully, uncorking the mead. "Um…Colette? Is this an appropriate time?" Mirabelle asked, warily. "Hm? Oh, this isn't for me! This is Urag's special mead. I use it to wake up patients and clean up my paint messes."

And with that, Colette opened the mans mouth slightly and tossed the mead on his face. He sat bolt upright, coughing and sputtering. "WHAT IN THE NAME OF TALOS' LEFT NUT?!"

"Ooh, that's good," Mirabelle said. "Brelyna, make a note of that. I wanna see Ancano's face when he hears it."

The man took a great, heaving breath and flopped backwards, thumping against the pillow. "Welcome back to the land of the living!" Faralda said, noting the way that Brenllama was…noticing the man's distinctly non-Magelike physique. "I believe we skipped the formalities. My name is Faralda. And yours?"

The man sat up again, wincing and touching a scar on his side. "A-André. My name is André. I'm a Breton."

Faralda waved her hand blithely, dismissing his reply. "Very, very nice. But can you do magic?"

André nodded weakly, and raised his hand. A spark of purple light formed between his index finger and thumb. "It's not much, but…it's the one that's easiest for me." Then, with a level of indifference bordering on boredom that perfectly contrasted with the strain on his face (or possibly he furrowed his brows to keep the mead from dripping into his eyes), he flicked it away at the floor. A burst of bright purple light emanated from the spot where it struck, and a flame atronach appeared in a swirl of fire. Behemoth gasped, impressed by…something. Faralda simply nodded, watching the atronach. "Very nice, very nice. Well, if Mirabelle will allow it, I think we have a spot here for you."

"Thank Talos," André said, closing his eyes. Mirabelle nodded, rising from her chair and leaving with Colette. Bamanana paused for a moment at the door. "Do-do you need anything, André?"

André flipped over onto his stomach. "Yeah," he said, his voice muffled by the pillow, "sleep."

"Oh. Okay," Barmaid said, her cheeks reddening. Faralda, stifling a chuckle, ushered her out of the room. "Come on, you can awkwardly flirt tomorrow."

* * *

 **Wow, that took an unreasonable amount of time to write and it still sucks. Whatever, I'm not spending another five months rewriting this chapter (not an exaggeration, y'all). The next one will be better, I promise. Leave any questions, comments, and constructive criticisms down below in the reviews…thingy…yeah. Any really rude criticisms can be PM'd to me, as those make me laugh.**


	2. Chapter 2: Into Saarthal

**HALL OF ATTAINMENT**

 **ANDRÉ**

 _Fire. Fire from the sky. A crying child. He ran, tackled the girl out of the way. The massive black head swung about. Cruel, red eyes locked with his own. The child ran. He ran the other way. The beast took to the wing. Soldiers ran, pulling townspeople to safety, out the gates. Into a tower. Blood ran through the streets. Hunks of coal that were once people. The crunch was nauseating._

André opened his eyes, inhaling sharply. His hands grasped at nothing, and his side twinged. The actual pain was long gone, but the memories of it remained. He rolled over onto his back, groaning as he did. Barely twenty-five and he already felt like an elder. He eased his way out of the bed, conscious of how close he'd been to dying yesterday.

"I would not advise that if I were you, friend."

André tensed, suddenly noticing that he wasn't alone. There was a Khajiit there, wearing the College robes and leaning against the doorway. André stopped moving and tilted his head quizzically. "Why not?"

The Khajiit entered the room, grabbing something off the floor and tossing it to André. "Your robes and other clothes. Colette had to remove them to heal you, but Brelyna keeps moving them further away from you." André stifled a laugh as he slipped his underclothes on under the blanket before standing to put on the robes. "Well, thank you…"

"J'Zhargo. This one is called J'Zhargo.

"J'Zhargo."

"It was no problem," J'Zhargo said, his voice tinged with laughter. "I can hardly say I am better than you if the contest is not fair."

"Oh no, of course not," André replied, straightening his robes and grabbing the gloves, boots, and amulet that had been left on his bedside table, "that would just be a cheap victory, if I were to be half-dead and naked and I'm _still_ better than you." J'Zhargo laughed, clapping André on the shoulder. "I am glad we understand each other, my friend. Now come-there is food here."

"I do like food," André said agreeably, walking to the second level of the Hall with J'Zhargo. There was a table littered with food and drink, and a young man sitting there, eating a truly massive slice of cheese. André and J'Zhargo sat next to him, grabbing plates and loading them with food. "Good morning," the other mage said to them. "Same to you," André replied, ripping into a creme treat. "Name's André."

"I know," the other mage said, gulping down half a bottle of mead. "you're the one Faralda dragged in last night. That was rather funny, to be honest. Oh, I'm Onmund! Nice to meet you!"

André paused, halfway through his creme treat, watching Onmund in horrified fascination. "Are…are you hungry, Onmund?"

Onmund stopped his vicious attack on the food, his mouth full of sweet roll. "Hm?" He swallowed the sweet roll, wiping his lips with the back of his sleeve. "Not any more than usual, I guess."

"Onmund is experimenting with ways to make the people of Winterhold like the College again," J'Zhargo muttered into his apple pie, "such as by buying enough food from them to bring their economy back. At least, that is what J'Zhargo thinks."

Onmund shrugged, digging into a wheel of cheese. "If that would work I'd do it in a heartbeat. It's sad how the people hate the College."

André reached across the table for a bottle of wine, taking a sip and ripping a hunk of meat apart with his teeth. "So you two are also Apprentices, then?"

J'Zhargo and Onmund nodded. "And Brelyna, too!" Onmund said, somehow managing to be articulate around a mouthful of venison. "Oh, the Dunmer?" André asked, "The one who kept moving my clothes?"

"Yeah, she's being weird," Onmund said thoughtfully. "She ate before us again-she's off practicing her magic."

"Damn." André said, impressed. J'Zhargo then mumbled "Or she is alone somewhere, thinking of André here…", which really just ruined it. And everything else. Forever.

They finished the meal mostly in silence, aside from Onmunds frightening animalistic growls as he ate. After André was informed by J'Zhargo not to worry about cleaning up ("Phinis is testing a new way of binding draughr"), the three set off across the courtyard for the Hall of Elements. Onmund pushed the door open and ushered the other two inside, out of the cold. Inside, Brelyna was talking to an older Nord man. Aside from them, the Hall was empty. The man took note of them and gestured the three inside. "Ah, our other apprentices! Come in, come in! Brelyna and I were just discussing our plans for the day, and I think you all should join."

The apprentices all filed in, arraying themselves around the man. Brelyna first came and stood right by André, then moved as far away as possible when he smiled at her. André didn't know what in Oblivion her problem was, but he also didn't really care.

"Oh, and for our new companion, my name is Tolfdir. No need for honorifics. Now, the College has undertaken an expedition in the nearby ruins of Saarthal, where we hope to discover more about how ancient Nords used magic. I think you four should join Arniel and I in our investigation of the ruins," Tolfdir said, smiling at them.

"I don't like this," Onmund chimed in, frowning. "disturbing the graves of my ancestors."

Tolfdir raised an eyebrow at Onmund. "They're my ancestors too, Onmund. But this investigation is important to discover the history of magic in Skyrim, and anyway, they're long dead."

"Doesn't mean they won't try to fight us," André said, prompting a laugh from Brelyna. Tolfdir smiled and ran his fingers through his beard. "Yes, we had a couple problems with draughr attacking us early on, and diving further in will cause more incidents, but I believe that we can handle some shambling corpses."

The doors to the Hall opened, and a tall Altmer man walked in, dressed in Thalmor robes. Andrés blood ran cold and he tilted his head to mutter to J'Zhargo. "Who's that?"

J'Zhargo turned his head imperceptibly, just enough to glimpse the Altmer. "Ancano. Thalmor representative to the College." The Khajiit paused briefly. "Asshole."

André nodded slowly. "Okay," he said quietly, before raising his voice, loud enough to echo off the walls. "Let's go to Saarthal! Come on, what in the name of Talos' left nut are we waiting for?" André spun on his heel, striding out of the Hall while looking Ancano in the eye with a smirk. Ancano only returned the smirk when André walked into the wall. "Here, wait," Brelyna said quietly, catching up to André and grabbing his sleeve, "I'll guide you to the door so you can keep up your dick measuring contest with Ancano."

"J'Zhargo does not think Acano has a dick," the Khajiit chimed in, loudly. "But I do not want to be the one who investigates it."

The Thalmor glared at Tolfdir and the apprentices as they left the Hall. The group huddled closer in the cold of the courtyard, Brelyna in particular trying to get as close to André as possible. They all slipped and slid their way across the horrifying walkway of death-André told J'Zhargo that when he was Arch-Mage, he'd better fix the bridge-and passed Faralda. "Good luck, all!" she called. "Oh, and Badonkadonk, I need some snowberries, can you get me some, dear?"

"There are snowberries literally five feet away, Faralda!" Brelyna yelled back. Faralda called, "What's that, Broadband? I can't hear you!"

"Bitch," Tolfdir mumbled, causing Brelyna to break into a shuddering giggle. "Do not do that," J'Zhargo hissed. "The moisture from your breath will freeze and make J'Zhargo cold."

After two hours of trudging through the snow, they crested a tall hill, where Tolfdir pointed out Saarthal's outer parts with enthusiasm. This was met with groans and pleas to return to the College, which Tolfdir stoically and cheerfully ignored. Finally, after nearly falling down the hill and arriving in a giant, comical snowball, the apprentices and their teacher arrived. Tolfdir led the group down a rickety set of stairs, to the entrance. He unlocked the door and paused. "As some of you may know, Saarthal was one of the earliest Nord settlements in Skyrim. It was also the largest. Sacked by the elves in the infamous "Night of Tears," not much is known about what happened to Saarthal. This is an exciting opportunity for us. To be able to study such an early civilization, and the magics they used...we're particularly interested in the magical seals-"

"J'Zhargo does not care. J'Zhargo will murder Onmund if we do not get out of this cold."

"…right then," Tolfdir said. "Let's get inside for Onmunds sake." He pushed the door open and ushered his students inside the ruined settlement.

"There's no way anybody in authority approved this." Onmund said. "Our ancestors-"

"Fuck your ancestors, buddy."

J'Zhargo laughed, clapping André on the back. "That would be unpleasant, my friend. The dead have dusty loins."

André, straighfaced, replied, "I defer to your superior knowledge of fucking the dead, J'Zhargo."

The Khajiits jaw dropped, opening and closing as he struggled to come up with a comeback. Brelyna and Onmund stuck together, the Dunmer trying to keep Onmund from fighting the others. "Sick…disrespectful…fucked-up…"

Tolfdir, ignoring the mess behind him, brought the apprentices to the cavern floor. They once again arrayed themselves in a half-circle around him, while Tolfdir passed out assignments. "Hm…Brelyna, dear, could you investigate any warding magics set up here, active or not? Don't interact with them, just note them. Onmund, once you've finished shoving bones into your pockets, see if you can find any residual energies, alive or undead. André, help Arniel find and catalog any enchanted objects you can…uhm…find…and J'Zhargo, see if you can find any other objects." With that, Tolfdir waved them away, before wandering into a side corridor. André looked at the others and shrugged, walking around the main room. He found a trio of improbably-placed enchanted rings, and was in the process of trying to find out who and where Arniel was, when-

A trilling noise, in the back of his head. He knew that feeling: a powerful source of magic was nearby. He whipped around, searching for the source of the trilling. It was close, André could tell-he slowly walked around, waiting for the feeling to strengthen. Almost, almost… _there_. An alcove. And tucked inside…André stepped into the alcove, feeling around in the dark. Wall…wall…wall… _aha_. He grasped at something, feeling the trilling in the back of his head subside as he touched the-was it a necklace?-and pulled it away from the wall.

 _Shink_

"Well shit," André muttered, turning to look at the bars that had sprung up from the group, holding him in. "I appear to be trapped."

* * *

 **I did it! Sorry if it isn't as funny as the first chapter: I was more focused on establishing character and starting off the storyline than jokes. Anyway, reviews are greatly appreciated, as always, as are constructive criticisms.**


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